


Aegon's Conquest

by Frenchcroatiansquid



Series: Shameless tickle fics [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dubious Consent, F/M, Femdom, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possible Abuse of Authority, Seriously no plot just dumb porn, Shameless tickle fic, Sorry Not Sorry, Tickle torture, Tickling, sadistic!Rhaella
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-11 16:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11717934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frenchcroatiansquid/pseuds/Frenchcroatiansquid
Summary: King's Landing, 262 AC. Aerys may get to pick suitable candidates for the position of Hand of the King, but Rhaella does the job interview.





	Aegon's Conquest

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this an informal prequel to [The Hand's Duties](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10504275/chapters/23177373)
> 
> Warning: Read the tags. If you are looking for a plot, you're in the wrong place. :)

The room was bathed in the soft light of the candles she had hung on the wall. She had made sure to tell her servants to light a fire in the iron brazier by the door. It felt oddly cozy for what was, in essence, a torture chamber.

She had stumbled upon it almost by accident, and truth be told, it wasn't much: only a small room with a hook on the ceiling and a rack in the corner, hidden inside the thick walls of the Tower of the Hand. Still, it served her purpose much better than any of the squalid cells down in the dungeons.

Someone had claimed Shiera Seastar had built this secret chamber for her half-brother, to test his loyalty and devotion – or perhaps simply to torture him for her amusement. Rhaella did not know if that was true or not, but she liked the idea, and it made for a good story.

“This is it.” The queen turned and smiled at the man standing by her side.

Her childhood friend did not return her smile. It felt as though she barely even knew him anymore. His face hadn't changed much, and he still had the same golden curls, but the expression in his eyes was different, _harder_.

His eyes roamed over the tiny cell. “This is what you wanted to show me, Your Grace? May I ask why?”

“Yes, you may,” she said, ignoring the subtle impatience hidden underneath his courtesies. “My brother wants to make you his Hand, and he's asked for my opinion. This room is where I take my most trusted servants to test them, to understand their strengths and weaknesses. How well do they work under pressure? Can they obey an order they disagree with? Are they willing to swallow their pride when I need them to?”

Tywin raised an eyebrow. He had always been a proud man, and his years away from King's Landing had certainly done nothing to change _that_. But he was also _ambitious_ and wise enough to know not to displease her.

Rhaella placed a hand on his shoulder. “You see, as queen, I must be able to _trust_ you. Unless I am willing to check every step of your work, I must know that you will always do what is in the best interest of my family and the realm. But in order to know if _I_ can trust _you_ , I must first find out if _you_ trust _me_. Do you trust my judgment? Are you willing to do what I tell you, not because you fear me or you happen to agree with me, but because you _trust_ I will do what is right?”

“I am, Your Grace.” _If this is what it takes to be named Hand of the King, then yes_ , his eyes seemed to say. _So cold, so calculating_ , she thought.

“Yes, but are you truly, Ser? Are you ready to submit your body and your mind to me? Are you willing to give up all control even if I tell you that I may take you to your limit, your breaking point, perhaps within an inch of your sanity? Knowing this, are you truly willing to submit to me?”

He looked at her solemnly, bowing his head. “I am, Your Grace.”

 _Ever so correct_ , she thought, fighting back a smile. She would have lied to say she wasn't looking forward to this test. “Very well then. Strip.”

Surprise flashed in his eyes, but then he nodded and swiftly slid out of his clothes. _So eager to prove yourself_.

She pointed at the rack. “Lie down.”

His eyes moved from her to the wooden bench. “Of course, Your Grace.” He lay down on his back, hesitating briefly before raising his arms above his head.

She closed the shackles around his ankles before tying his wrists with rope, taking a moment to admire the elegance of his chiseled body, watching him try not to squirm under her scrutiny. The sight of him all stretched out, exposed and defenseless, made her stomach flutter. _Oh, how you will_ hate _this._

“You like being in control,” she told him. “That is your strength, but it is also your weakness. Because the truth is, there will always be things outside of your control, things you _cannot_ control. You have to be willing to accept that, _embrace_ it even, if you wish to rule.”

“I suppose so, Your Grace.” He was trying to sound calm and indifferent, but it was obvious how much being tied down, not knowing what she would do next, bothered him.

“Oh, I can assure you it's true.” She began to brush her fingers delicately over his sides, up and down, up and down. He stiffened, following her hands with his eyes.

When they were younger, she had tickled him on occasion and to her great disappointment never gotten much of a reaction out of him. But being bound and helpless, unable to get away from her seemed to have changed all that, making him much more sensitive.

“What is this, Rhaella?” There was a hint of concern mixed in with the annoyance in his voice as it began to dawn on him what she was planning to do. She knew that look on his face – she'd seen it on many other men the moment they realized she was going to subject them to this most childish of tortures.

“Shhh... just relax!” She continued to drag her hands over his bare skin, probing for weak spots. He quickly pressed his lips together to prevent them from curving into an involuntary smile.

“Look how much you're enjoying this,” she teased. “I knew this would be fun for both of us.”

He was staring at the ceiling, refusing to meet her eyes, shifting uncomfortably.

She quickened the pace, watching him curl his fingers and shake his head from side to side as if that would somehow stop the ticklish sensation.

“You can't let go just yet, can you? Very well. If you can't _relax_ , let's see if you can _function_ under pressure, at least. How well do you know your history, Ser?”

His only response was a stifled squeal as she squeezed her hands around his waist.

“Alright. I'm sure you know enough to play Aegon's Conquest. This,” she traced a large circle around his torso, “is Westeros. Granted, your body makes an imperfect map of the Seven Kingdoms, but it will serve.”

He winced, the muscles on his stomach twitching nervously each time her hand made contact with his skin, a mixture of embarrassment and indignation in his eyes.

“Now _this_ ,” she lightly poked a rib on his left side, “is Dragonstone, my family's ancestral seat in Westeros. But when Aegon the Conqueror landed, he built his fort here,” she dug her finger in deeper, wiggling it around. “That's why it's called...?”

“King's... Landing...” He was twisting in his restraints, fighting for composure.

“Well done. Now the first few battles took place here in the Crownlands.” She added a few more fingers, marching them up and down his ribs before hovering her hand right over the middle of his stomach, ready to strike at any moment. “But what of this spot?”

“Harrenhal...?” She knew he wanted to sound firm, but her hand was making him so nervous his voice was cracking.

“That's right. Harren thought his castle would keep him safe. Too bad for him we had dragons.”

Her hand plunged down and danced over his stomach, making him squeal and tug at his bonds, struggling not to succumb to the giggles welling up in his throat.

“Oh, just _let go_ ,” she told him. “Laugh, scream, beg me. Let it all out. Trust me, you'll feel better. You've become much too serious!”

But he was clenching his fists and biting his lips, doing everything in his power to prevent himself from bursting into laughter.

She grinned. _Fight this all you want; I will break you sooner or later._ “While Aegon burnt Harrenhal, his sisters conquered the Stormlands. Down here.” She added another hand to tickle his waist.

“Enough, Rhaella, stop!”

“Stop what?... This?” She poked his belly. “Or this?” Her hand trailed upward over his rib cage and into his armpit.

“All of it!” His exasperation and frustration at his inability to stop her was almost as amusing to watch as his futile attempts to maintain his dignity. His face was red, a vein pulsing on his temple from the strain of trying to hold back. Or perhaps it was the humiliation of being unable to handle something as harmless as tickling.

“Sorry, request denied.” She gave him her sweetest smile. “Now where were we? Ah, yes, in the West, there were House Gardener and House Lannister, ruling as kings over the Reach and the Westerlands.”

Her hand moved over to the right side of his body. “You could cheer at least a little bit for your ancestor, don't you think?” She dug her hands into his ribs, poking and wiggling them around until his resistance collapsed and he burst out into a fit of giggles.

“Ah, that's better! But they did not stay there, did they?”

He was shaking his head, whimpering as she marched the two Western kings and their fifty thousand men across his belly, making sure to linger on his most sensitive spots until he was squealing with panicked laughter.

“No! Don't! Enough!” He was arching his back, trying to escape her hands, his laughter growing more frantic. “Stohohohp! I... can't... stahahand... this... no! Stop!”

“Why?” She tried to look as innocent as possible as she continued to playfully wiggle her fingers over both of his sides. “Am I _hurting_ you?”

“No!” He was writhing like a snake, having dropped all pretense of composure, desperately trying to pull his arms down to protect himself.

“ _No_? Then why do you want me to stop?” She taunted, trying and failing to hide her excitement, but she just couldn't help it. There was something almost intoxicating about making another person so helpless with no more than a few light touches.

He was too distraught to realize she was mocking him, or perhaps he simply no longer cared. “I... this... I can't...” His words were drowned out by another wave of frenzied laughter.

“This is no more than child's play, Ser. If you can't even take a little tickling, what am I supposed to make of your ability to rule the realm?”

He pressed his lips firmly together, trying with all his might to fight back the giggles. _He truly wants this job_. His odd ambition to prove himself to her made all of this even more amusing.

“So... up in the far North, when Torrhen Stark heard of Aegon, he decided to cross the Neck to face him-” She teased his neck with nimble fingers until he dissolved into helpless giggles again. “But in the end...?”

“He... bent the kneehehee...” He was hunching his shoulders and locking down his chin, but that only allowed her to dig deeper into the sensitive area around his collarbone.

“Ah, yes, Torrhen the king who knelt. You certainly know your Northern history, Ser! But oh, all those battles in the East...” She dug her hands into his left armpit again. “ _So_ confusing, don't you agree? Which one is this?”

“The Vale... Enough!”

She shook her head, trying her best to look stern. “I _told_ you we're not done. Far from it, in fact. Now what about the Vale?”

He was wheezing, trying to catch a breath as she continued to torment him. “The Vale... there was no true battle... just... stohohop!”

“Very good. What about _here_?” She prodded his right hip, eliciting a high-pitched shriek. “What did you say? I didn't hear you.”

“Oldtown!” He cried. “Coronation! Stop!!” All his self control was gone. He was twisting and turning, alternating between trying to pin her hand down and attempting to free himself.

Her fingers moved up his sides, tickling him relentlessly until he was trembling and shaking, frantically tugging at his bonds.

“And _here_?”

“I... I don't... knohohow...” He was completely disoriented, laughing so hard she almost felt a bit guilty for enjoying this so much.

But enjoy it she did. There was undeniable beauty in completely and utterly breaking a man – the intimacy of torturing him until something inside of him shattered and she had gained control not only of his body but his _mind_ as well.

He was very close to his breaking point, _too_ close for her liking. _Too much, too fast_. She paused, letting him catch his breath, gently brushing a strand of matted hair out of his face, kissing his temple.

He looked exhausted, panting and sweating, tears of laughter in his eyes. “Just tell me what I can do to make this _stop._ ”

That made her chuckle. “Have you been paying no attention at all? There is absolutely _nothing_ you can do. That's the whole point of this... Now let's try again... Where are we?” She wiggled her fingers in the air over his right armpit. “I'll give you a hint. They're your neighbors.”

“The Iron Islands!”

“Good.” She pulled her hand away. “And once the Iron Islands were in order, only _one_ kingdom remained, unbowed, unbent, unbroken, as they still like to say in Sunspear, even though we all know that's not true. Which kingdom was that, Ser?”

“Dorne, Your Grace.” Relief over the easy question quickly gave way to concern over the spot where the next battle was going to take place.

His cock was hard, twitching and bouncing against his belly, and now that she had given him time to recover his breath, he suddenly seemed acutely aware of how his body was betraying him.

“That's right. _Dorne._ ” She rested her hand on his midriff, running her thumb over the trail of soft hair on his belly until she brushed against the tip of his member. “Is this still Dorne, I wonder? Or have I landed on the Stepstones?”

“Enough! Please!”

“Ah, but it would be such a pity to skip the Dornish wars. It took my family nearly two centuries to bring the southernmost kingdom into the realm. And you seem to be loving this so much.” She gently tickled the underside of his balls.

“Stop that! The king will hear of this!” His head had turned as dark as his tunic on the floor.

“What an excellent suggestion,” she grinned. “I'm sure Aerys would _love_ to hear how I made you squeal and moan by tickling your privy parts. Maybe he'll even _join_ us next time. You see, he likes to complain to me how you seem to have forgotten your place since you knighted him. I'm sure he'd enjoy seeing you brought to your knees by... _this_.” She scribbled her fingernails up and down his cock, watching the muscles in his stomach twitch and spasm.

He was fighting the sensation with every fiber in his body, but it was a lost battle. It took her no more than a few well-placed strokes until he spilled his seed.

“Oh dear, what a mess you've made.” She used his tunic to wipe his belly clean.

Spent, he suddenly looked even more exhausted than before, his eyes silently pleading with her to let him go, but she couldn't do that just yet.

His whole body had become deliciously sensitive, turning him into a quivering mess under her hands as she raked her fingers over his belly and up his sides, prodding and poking.

He was laughing uncontrollably, yanking at the ropes that held him in place, pleading with her to stop. It was a thrill to see him so helpless, completely at her mercy, thrashing and screaming.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Yes! Stop-p-p pleeeease!” His body was wracked by hiccups. “Stohohop!”

For a moment she feared he might pass out as her hands kept gliding over his body. “Think!” She said. “Are you _sure_ you want me to stop?”

Suddenly, as if through a miracle, something in his mind clicked, and he finally understood. It took him all his strength not to keep pleading for her mercy. “As-as you...as... as...”

“Yes?”

“As- you... see... f-fit...”

She stopped.

He was flat on his back, too exhausted to move, his body still shaking from the ordeal. She lay down next to him, wrapping her arms around him, trying to calm him down. “Shhh... it's alright... it's over... you made it...”

They stayed like that for the better part of the hour until he had finally stopped trembling. She got up to cut the rope around his wrists before opening the shackles that held his legs in place.

He rose, straightening his shoulders and picking up his clothes from the floor, poised aloofness slowly returning to his eyes as he dressed himself. “So what will you tell your brother, Your Grace?” 

His persistence made her smile. Or perhaps it was the clearly visible stain on his tunic as he stood in front of her. “Oh, you did well enough. But truth be told, once I had you tied down, you didn't have much of a choice except to pray for my mercy. Come back here tomorrow night of your own free will, and we can _talk_ about your new job.”

 


End file.
